


Relinquish

by Absolute_Fool



Series: Two Old Friends, and Another. [3]
Category: Merrily We Roll Along - Sondheim/Furth
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst, Childhood Trauma, Divorce, Drama, Drug Use, Friendship, Memories, Mental Health Issues, Original Character(s), Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-29
Updated: 2019-08-22
Packaged: 2020-07-25 18:08:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 13,026
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20030101
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Absolute_Fool/pseuds/Absolute_Fool
Summary: Franklin Shepard -- a hit piece





	1. Prologue

"Charley, you can't just do this."

That was for sure. Charley, 16, had a tissue pressed against his nose, head tilted back.  
The other people, an upperclassman who was surely gonna get Charley back for getting them in trouble, and a tearful Franklin Shepard who Charley'd convinced the principal wasn't involved in the fight, had been sent back to class, but the principal had kept Charley.

"You're a smart kid, I know you are. You've got top grades, teachers like you! Why do you keep doing this?"

"I didn't start it, sir." Charley said.

"But did you escalate it?" He said.

Charley didn't answer.

"Why are you a target?" He said.

"I don't know..." Charley said.

"Come on, you know why. Why are you a target?"

"Because I'm intrinsically othered."

"No, Charley, come on." He said, "Why are you a target?"

"I don't know what you want me to say!" Charley said.

"If you didn't-"

"Can I just go to class, sir?" Charley said.

"No." He said, "Look, kid, I know your family. I taught all 3 of your brothers, your father and I were chums back in the day, I know that as.. odd and untraditional your family's choices are, you're good people. You're not people who get into fights."

Charley didn't respond.

"Don't make me call your father. I have his work number memorized and I know he won't be happy to know my recommendation."

"What's your recommendation?" Charley said, looking down.

"There are alternative programs." He said.

Charley looked up at him, "Please don't."

"Exactly." He said, "Try to limit the time I'm forced to see you in here, alright? Let's try that. Just try to deescalate and try not to mingle around. Just survive your days."

"Yes, sir." Charley said, standing up, "May I go back to class now?"

"With your clothes all stained with blood like that?" He said, "No."

"What?" Charley said.

"Go home for today, Charley." He said.

"I don't want to- please-"

"Go. Don't cause any trouble."

Charley walked down the road, bag over his shoulder. His nose had stopped bleeding, but it still ached. His jaw also ached, and his shoulders and so on. He stopped for a second where the sidewalk ended for a 1 mile stretch, steading his thoughts, and walking on. He heard a car driving behind him, a bit back, and stepped a bit over the side to make sure it could get past. Then he heard the car speed up and he glanced over his shoulder, it was coming toward him. He jumped to the side and the car swerved to try to hit him. Charley wasn't hit, but tumbled down a small hill. He looked up. He knew that car. he knew that car! That was Mr. Shepard's car. The car sped off. Charley sat up, he'd scraped his arm all up. He pulled his sleeve down and watched as the beige became pink. Wonderful. He collected his things back into his bag, pens and books. He pressed his glasses back on his face, standing up.

He walked that mile stretch then came back to sidewalk and walked another mile, finally finding home. Laser-focused, he got to the door. Before he could open it, it opened itself and smacked him, making him stumble back.  
It was Dad. _Why was dad home?_

"Charles?!" Dad said.

"Hello." Charley said, focusing his eyes. "Why are you here?"

"I had to come home to grab a file- come on, get in the car. You're not skipping. That's unacceptable-"

"I'm not skipping!" Charley said.

Dad finally looked at him and stepped back, "Suspended?"

"Just sent home for the day…" Charley said.

Dad gave him the look and held the door.

"Come on." Dad said, "Be quiet, your mother is sleeping."

Charley nodded, pushing past him.

"Into my office."

Charley nodded, going into the office. Dad followed. Charley enjoyed his father's office, with its endless rows of books on psychology and theory and music.  
Charley took a seat on one of the chairs in the corner, bringing his knees to his chest.

Dad went to the phone, "Hi, yes... Cancel the rest of my appointments for today... Family emergency, dear…Tell him to call me at home tonight..." He hung up and looked up, then went to his desk and pulled out the first aid kit.

"Let me see that arm." He said.

Charley pulled up the sleeve and Dad came over, kneeling by him and rubbing it down with hydrogen peroxide, making Charley wince.

"How'd this happen?"

"Had to dodge a car on the way home." Charley said.

"Oh, fantastic." He said, "This whole world wants to kill you."

"I know." Charley said.

He wrapped it up with a bandage, "Oh, Charley."

Dad never called him Charley.

"What?" Charley said.

"You know all of your brothers have offered to take you in. To get you away from this.." He said, "Start a whole new life out with Marco in Lincolnwood, or- or why not farther? Lorenzo's out in Cape Cod, he wants to take you in. And- and- Daniel... Well, he's out there in medicine school but his wife would love to have someone like you around the house."

"I like it here!" Charley said, "Just because you don't want me here, doesn't mean I want to leave! I like my-" he stopped.

"You'll find another friend, kid." Dad said.

"Not one like him." Charley said.

Dad shook his head, "You want an aspirin?"

Charley nodded.

Dad left the room and returned with a pill and a glass of water, "Kiddo, you gotta let go of this kid. He's great, I think he's great too, but if you're going to sacrifice yourself to be next to him, it isn't worth it."

"It is worth it!" Charley said, "I know it is! I know it's worth it! You'll see someday, it'll be worth it."

And Dad just shook his head, pat him on the shoulder, handed him the glass and the pill, and left the room.

Was it worth it?

That was 25 years ago. Charley could recall it like it was yesterday. Those years were full of ruthless defenses of Frank. Those years were full of throwing friends away for him. Those years were full of sleepless nights thinking about him after he left. Those years were full of Charley's own breakdowns and sitting next to _him_ through breakups. Those years were full of doctors and shrinks and therapies and occasionally pills. Those years were full of cooking and cleaning and raising kids and music and writing and _writing_ and getting excited just to hear his name. _Was any of it worth it? Was what you gained worth what you lost? Worth what you had to get rid of? Worth the misery?_

It was funny to Charley that what he'd said, the interaction he'd deemed the last one with Franklin Shepard, had struck Mary out of his life. It was fitting that Frank's departure would be the departure of Charley's other friend. That was always Frank's ways. Its either Frank or everyone else. And it's also, somehow, Frank and everyone else.

Charley had promised to never go on a plane alone. He'd promised it to two psychiatrists, three brothers, and one former best friend. It triggered the worst in him, the power being in an airport gave him. He could go anywhere. Yet, with just a bag of the possessions he could snatch out of his room in a hurry, he was on a plane. It was a betrayal on many, it was a betrayal of himself. It made him giddy. That or it was the pills he hadn't taken. He didn't know. But he felt great, other than the dark pit of despair growing in him. Frank's gone. You got rid of him. You got rid of Mary too! You did it! You did it!  
The giddiness made Charley talk, especially on planes.

"Why are you going to LA?" Charley asked the person, an older man, next to him.

The guy sighed, "Why are you asking?"

"Well if we're going to be stuck on a plane for 6 hours, might as well not spend it being silent." Charley said.

The guy looked over to someone on the other aisle, "Sweetie, please."

"Sure, Dad."

She, a 20-something, and the man swapped seats.

"hi." She said.

"Hello." Charley said.

"my father hates conversations." She said.

"Do you?" Charley said.

"Matters, why are you going to LA?"

"We'll find that out when we get there." Charley said.

She widened her eyes and went back to reading her book.

Charley talked to everyone he could on that plane. They didn't seem to reciprocate his energy, most just ignoring them. He spoke to a woman in his rusty Spanish about architecture. He calmed a screaming child sitting in the aisle in front of him, and then showed the mother pictures of his own kids.

LAX was overwhelming and he hid in the bathroom for a while, hunched over the sink. He'd need to get a hotel. He washed his hands till they hurt and by then he'd calmed down and was out within 35 minutes. He got a bit lost. He got a cab. He knew now where he was going.

The gate to the Carnegie residence was open when Charley got there. He paid the the cab probably too much and then walked to the door, knocking.

"I'll be out in a second-" she called.

"Gussie, it's me!" Charley said, "Charley Kringas!"

The door opened in, in fact, a second. She stood there, dressed up nice.

"What-"

"What am I doing here?" Charley said, "Good question. I want to ask you some questions, then presumably, you'll get something out of me. And I don't know what that is, but I know quite a bit about things that might interest you."

She stepped back, "He's not here yet, is he?"

"Who?" Charley said.

"GOOD." Gussie said, "Come in."

"You're taking to that offer rather quick." Charley said.

"Do you want to talk about Frank?" Gussie said.

"Of course, I do." Charley said, following her into the living room, "We've got nothing in common."

A young man sat on the sofa.

"This is my biographer, Edward." Gussie said, "We're all talking about Frank. It would be good to have another source."

"Is this going to be some hit piece?" Charley said.

"Yes." Gussie said, "This biography is about my relationship with the man."

Charley felt a spike of nerves and sat down, "Well, I…"

"He finally broke you, Charley." Gussie said, "Didn't he?"

Charley laughed, "Alright, fine."

And for once, Gussie wasn't slightly terrifying. She wasn't great. She wasn't perfect. She wasn't good. But she was in a sense, relatable.

"I can get you a number to Beth, and his son and any number of his girlfriends, and… Probably not Mary." Charley said, "If the biographer goes without you, I'm sure you could get anyone on earth to talk about Franklin Shepard."

"How odd is it that you stopped by right now?" Gussie said.

"Sometimes, things happen for a reason." Charley said. "I hate Franklin Shepard."


	2. Family!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Frankie Shepard goes on a quest.

Frankie Shepard was sick and tired of his name. Franklin Shepard the fourth. Named after his great grandfather, and his grandfather, and his father. He wasn't like them. Well, he was a bit like his father. But only in some ways. He wasn't as cruel, surely. And he was a good person. He had to he a good person, at least compared to his dad. He was very nervous. Dad was never nervous.

People would see his name and they'd stop and their eyes would widen and they'd go, "like the celebrity" and Frankie would either say "my parents were big fans of his" or "He's my father."

He didn't like to be known as the son of Franklin Shepard. He didn't like being the son of a man who was on his second very public divorce. He didn't like being the son of his mother much either, but he could avoid it.

A half-sister.

It hurt his head. He had a half-sister. He had a little brother on his mom's side. But he wasn't really a brother. He didn't call him his brother. He was his mother and step-father's son, that's it.  
But a half-sister. A half sister. Unless Aunt Mary had gone crazy, he had a little sister.   
His father and him weren't in contact. He didn't even know where he lived. And he didn't even know where to look.  
That was for the best. But he still wanted confirmation. A half-sister.

He hadn't been to this door in many years. As a child, he'd get dropped off here for hours. Uncle Charley would watch him. And he'd sit with the other kids as Uncle Charley read books to them. And he'd eat dinner with Dad and Aunt Evelyn and the other kids and Uncle Charley. That's all he remembered. It was a very long time ago.

He reached out and knocked on the door, reeling back and straightening himself. It was late, 8:45. It was raining outside, Frankie had tried to stay as dry as he could but he'd failed. He was still a little damp. He straightened his posture and tried to smile, but he was too nervous. It came off weird. It felt weird so it must've been weird.

The door opened and Aunt Evelyn stood. There was a long pause and she looked shocked then horrified, then shocked again, then she smiled, then she looked shocked again.

"Hi.." Frankie said, "I know you probably don't remember me. I'm Frankie Shepard. Franklin Shepard's son... and uhm..."

" You.. look like.. your mother." Evelyn said, taking a step back, "Do you want to come in?"

Frankie nodded and entered in. It was a nice apartment, though not very comfortable. It was ever so slightly too cool and there weren't many decorations and there weren't many photos. Frankie stuck close to the door as she passed, not hanging up his coat.

"Kids! Kids, come out here." She called, then she turned back to him, "Sit down. Its good to see you-"

"I have-" Frankie cleared his throat, " I have to get going, I just.. I just have some questions."

She turned to him, face dulling, "Are you looking for Charley?"

Frankie nodded, looking at his feet.

She sighed, "We've been divorced for a year."

Frankie stepped back. That didn't make any sense!

"I'm sorry." Frankie said, turning to leave.

"No-- no, wait." Evelyn said, "It's been a few days but--" he found a piece of paper and scribbled some things on it, "He might be at one of these three places. Go to the last one as a last resort, alright?"

Frankie turned back around. She handed him the paper. He nodded.

The kids were all crowded up from the hall, eyes wide. They must've been.. 17, 17, 17, and 15 respectively. He remembered the girls a bit. Angela.. Jessica.. Janine.. he couldn't recall the youngest's name. He nodded at them then turned and left, trying to hold back a grin. He was going to figure this out!

The first place he went, the next evening, he was met with a guy who sorta looked like Charley but definitely wasn't. He simply shook his head and said, "Charley's not been around for a while, I'm sorry."

The next place he went, he was met with an older man who wouldn't let him come in this time but said that he hadn't seen Charley in a few days, or heard from him.

The third place was some ultra fancy apartment building that Frankie felt weird being in, hunching his shoulders and looking at his feet as he walked the hall, getting to the end of it and knocking on the door. There was a pause and Frankie almost turned to leave but then the door opened. It wasn't Uncle Charley. It was Frankie's father. Dad looked bad, unshaven, hair greasy, dark bags under his eyes, wearing a robe.  
They both just stood there in stunned silence.


	3. Something is Wrong.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Frankie talks to his father, Gussie talks to Charley.

Dad's apartment was very nice. It was big, it was comfortable, it was well decorated. It was also a total mess. It was full of dying plants and various things, from trash to clothes, tossed on chairs and in the plants. It was dark and ever so slightly humid. It smelled like a bar.   
Dad opened a window and gestured for Frankie to sit down, then left down a hall and returned dressed in wrinkled casual clothing, running a hand through his hair. He walked to a table and poured them both a drink. Frankie didn't drink, but he held the drink anyways.

"Why are you here?" Dad said, "Not that I'm not happy to see you."

"Well, I wanted to see Uncle Charley but-"

"He's just Charley. Don't call him your uncle." Dad said, "Charley, Mary. That's it. They're not anything."

"Okay…" Frankie said, "Well, you're even better than Charley on this subject. Aunt Mary- I mean, Mary told me that… that I have a half sister."

He put his drink down on the table, "That bitch. That stupid bitch."

"I'm sorry." Frankie said.

"You're not supposed to know! No one is supposed to know!" Dad said.

"I- I'll forget about it." Frankie said, "I'm sorry."

"Well, it's too late for that! Its too late for everything, Frankie!" Dad said, he pulled his wallet out and tossed it at him, "A picture of her is in there."

Frankie opened it and found the photo, in between photos of himself, "Oh... I didn't even know Gussie and you wanted kids."

Dad's face dulled, "She's not Gussie's daughter. She's.. a friends daughter. I just happen to be the father."

Frankie didn't know what the say. Dad walked over and snatched the wallet back.

"I know." Dad said, "I am the worst person on Earth. I am a terrible father and friend and husband. You came here just to tell me off. I get it. I deserve it. You can leave now."

"I-" Frankie said.

"You can tell me off, though. If it's the only way for you to reach catharsis. I don't care. I deserve it. You deserve it to yourself to tell me off for being a deadbeat Dad."

"Dad, I-"

"DO IT!" Dad said, "Its what you want to do, might as well do it."

"I don't want to…" Frankie said.

"Why don't you?!" Dad said.

"I don't." Frankie said.

Dad sighed and sat down, putting his head in his hands.

"Do you.. live alone?" Frankie said.

"Charley used to live here.." Dad said, "He might still, I don't know."

"I thought you two weren't.. friends..." Frankie said.

"Charley, I think, saw it the same." Dad said, "Last time I saw him we were screaming at eachother in a bathroom while Mary tried to keep us from killing eachother- and i should've killed him. He's a bastard- who am I kidding! I miss him so much, Frankie, he keeps disappearing, Frankie, he doesn't like me but he likes me, my god it doesn't make any sense!"

Frankie didn't know what to say.

"That's not your business." Dad said, "I'm sorry."

"Well, do you want help cleaning up?" Frankie said.

"What's the point?" Dad said. "I'm the only one here."

Frankie nodded, "I'm sorry."

Dad shook his head, "Don't make friends, Frankie. Don't do it. Make Acquaintances, keep friends far. They will never do anything for you."

"What about Mary?" Frankie said.

Dad laughed, "Her liver will fail in 5 years. Mustn't worry about caring about her."

"Isn't she your friend?" Frankie said.

"No." Dad said, "No one is. No one likes ME! I don't even like me! I hate Franklin Shepard, you've got no idea."

Frankie cleared his throat, "I'm sorry, Dad."

"Go home, Kid." Dad said, "Don't let me seep into you."

"Thanks for the info on my sister.." Frankie said, "Can I… Do you know where Charley is? I want to talk to him, not about this- I won't tell him this! I just want to catch-up."

"Ask Evelyn."

"they're divorced." Frankie said, "I.. guess you already know that."

"I couldn't give a shit where Charley is." Dad said, he stood up and left to the hall again then came back holding a big case and handed it to Frankie, "That's all I've really got left of him. Of who he is! Was… he's gonna crazy. He stopped writing. He's big into plants- he's a homosexual. It doesn't make sense. He's lost his mind."

Frankie opened the case and then closed it. It was a typewriter.

Dad began to cry and Frankie held the typewriter and cleared his throat and left.

\---

"I have a better idea, Gus." Charley said as the two sat outside by her pool, "I could turn it into a play. The biography stays the same, but- BUT, I turn it into a play."

"Oh?"

"Screenplay if I must." Charley said, " But a play, I could finish quickly and get it produced even quicker."

"Why are you so willing to throw him away like this?" Gussie said.

"Because I have spent the majority of my life bending to this man's will, conciously and subconsciously and he will never change and the only way I can move on, is to feel like there's a possibility that he'll see the play or read the biography and he'll exactly how he is."

"What do you need to write?"

"I need to talk to Beth and you and then-"

"I have an in-law apartment, just above the garage, get yourself a typewriter, I'll work on getting you tickets to wherever our little Beth is, and the current notes on my experiences with Franklin Shepard. Once we get anything you need, how long will it take?"

"That varies-"

"How do we make sure it goes as quickly as possible?" Gussie said.

"I don't... know?" Charley said.

"I'll figure something out." Gussie said, rising, "Burning Question: Are you a homosexual, Mr. Kringas?"

Charley didn't say anything. But there was nothing left to hide. It didn't matter who knew, Charley didn't have anyone left to care if it had negative impacts on him. His kids futures were secure, his will was already written, and he had no friends who'd have to explain it after his death.. whenever that was. It felt soon. He didn't want to die but there was an aching suspicion growing in him, that working with Gussie was the last thing he'd ever do and while it distressed him a bit, he'd already gone through the stages. He accepted it.

He nodded, "I am."

"That's what I thought." Gussie said, " Thats what keeps our contract. No legalese needed. Let me show you to the apartment."

A few nights later, Charley sat in said apartment, with a new typewriter and notes upon notes. He couldn't write until he had Beth. His mind had been racing. He hadn't slept in what felt like a week. He hadn't seen the sun or showered in the same time. Gussie would occasionally come up, ask him how it was doing or bring him something to eat. His ankle ached. His limping was getting even worse. He needed to go to a doctor to get the stitches removed. He would eventually.  
Gussie had a party which Charley avoided. He wasn't particularly big on being seen here.   
Something was wrong, even for Charley. He felt as bad as he usually, but artificially boosted. It wasn't a good boost, it was a restlessness. He had to work. He had to finish this. Catharsis perhaps. When it was done, he wasn't sure how he'd feel.   
He didn't feel very good, but he had to work. He was in a state of complete disconnection, he knew that too. If he had sense, he knew, that he'd be leaving the moment he figured it out but there was nowhere to go. Might as well live as wired as you can while you can.

"Do you describe me as the hermit in your apartment?" Charley said that evening as the two sat at his table, eating.

"I do." Gussie said. "No name, nothing. Just that I have a writer upstairs."

Charley cackled.

"you're remarkably calm about this." Gussie said, raising an eyebrow.

"I don't have much to be upset over. You don't like me, I don't like you. This is a symbiotic relationship, but that's all it is. I'm sure the moment I finish this script, we will never talk again. You'll go on your merry way, and I'll… I don't know what…" Charley said. "Once I talk to Beth, I'll get this script done and then… well I'll stop writing again."

"You'll be down there next month." Gussie said.

"I know." Charley said. "Gussie, not that you care, but there is something very wrong. I can feel it. I can write this all I want, but I feel like that's all there is. I'm anxious and nauseated and nervous and terrified and dreading the future and… I need to go a doctor for my ankle. That's probably it."

Gussie's face dulled for a second then she laughed and took out a card, "you'll go to the one."

"I should probably see if my insurance takes him." Charley said.

"I'll pay for it." Gussie said, "While you're here, while you work for me, you go to him."

"Gee, you're controlling." Charley said.

"And you're letting me be so." Gussie said, "Aren't you?"

Charley looked down.

"I know how to do this. To pull off this project." Gussie said, "I've got a producer already on board. I'm talk to actors. This isn't a team effort. You are my employee, you're getting paid in my silence."

Charley didn't respond.

"Go to that doctor. No other doctors, no shrinks. That is part of the deal of me letting you live here for free. You live under my rules, my thumb. You are my writer." Gussie said, "I get your mail and I look through this space whenever you're gone, Mr. Kringas. Don't forget that."

Gussie reminded Charley of so many of Frank's girlfriends. Except unlike them, she had actual power. The girls before could burn his arms with cigarettes, or get people to beat the shit out of him, or make Frank ignore him, but she.. she could actually ruin his life. That was thrilling.


	4. Idolizing

When Frankie was a child, Dad used to stay up late working on music. Mom hated it, sometimes it drove her so crazy that she'd just cry and cry and cry. Frankie never understood it. He liked the noise. It kept him up, but it was fun to hear.  
And in the daytime, sometimes Charley would stop by when Frankie was home, and Frankie would sit in his room as quietly as he could, trying to hear whatever they were talking about. He'd only really hear the yelling.  
Though occasionally Dad would let him sit in when he was working. It was never the real working. It was Dad and Charley showing off new work. Frankie thought those were the best days.  
They argued a lot, he knew that. Dad really found a way to argue with anyone. Mom and Charley both could be brought to states of pure distress by Dad, which Frankie never understood. Dad wasn't scary or mean, he wasn't even very harsh. When he yelled, he'd snap back to cool and calm within a few seconds. Or maybe that was just bridled rage. Frankie didn't know.  
He could recall, Mom and Dad came to pick him up from Charley and Evelyn's place and Charley and the other kids had been there all day but Evelyn had gotten back alongside them, and as they got there, Mom and Dad started to fight. Charley tried to distract Frankie, though he couldn't distract him over the yelling in the other room. And Evelyn rushed in there not to yell so loud in front of the kids, which only caused a three-person-argument. And eventually Charley and Frankie both stopped trying to block it out and Charley just gave Frankie some juice and crackers and stood in the archway, watching the living room with horror and repeatedly turning around.  
"Its okay, I promise, it's okay. People fight like this sometimes." Charley'd say.  
And sometime later, Frankie had heard the word "divorce" being thrown around a lot at home, so when he next saw Charley (who was the smartest person he knew at the time) he asked him what it meant. And Charley's face went dull and he smiled and looked at Dad and Dad shook his head. So Charley leaned close and said, "I don't know, kiddo."  
And then Charley stood up, whispered something to Frank, kissed him on the cheek, and was gone. And Dad explained to Frankie what the word "divorce" meant.   
Every good memory of childhood Frankie had a bad memory attached.

By far, the worst memory he had between his father and Uncle Charley, was when he was once again staying at Charley's for the day and the other kids had all fallen asleep so Frankie pretended to be asleep too. And Dad came to pick him up and the three adults sorta just sat around talking and then Dad just began to sob, intensely, like a child. And even Evelyn jumped in to console him. By the time that Frankie had given up on pretending to sleep, Dad was calm and Charley and Evelyn let Frankie take a book that he'd been reading with him.  
After the divorce, for a short while before Frankie and Mom moved, Charley was around a lot. Though Beth and him would bicker about it.

"Why are you the one picking him up and bringing him back? He can't even muster up the effort?"

"Because he knows that you do not want to see him. He's being respectful, Elizabeth. I know he's a pain in the ass just as much as you do, but my god, let him see his son without trouble."

"You don't know anything about what being in a love with that man for this long feels like, Charley. Don't overstep yourself."

"You have no idea."

And after they moved, whenever Dad came down, Charley (and sometimes Mary) came with him. Whenever Frankie got to visit his father in New York, Charley was there.   
That stopped entirely around 73. So when Mary and Charley were at his graduation, eyes bright and grinning just like his Mom, without even being invited, it felt like a good dream. That was a memory he had that didn't have a bad one attached.  
Mom wasn't happy to have them there, but they brought Frankie out to dinner the next day (Beth and step-Dad had already scheduled something for the day of) and Frankie got to tell them all about the past few years. And while both of them seemed very excited, both of them also looked so burnt out. Frankie asked about his Dad and Charley's face went blank and Mary simply said, "he loves you."  
He wished they didn't leave. He didn't even get to tell Uncle Charley that he was going to be in New York, soon enough. He had so much he wanted to say to them at that time, pages and pages worth of his life.

He'd stopped by Aunt Mary's again, to ask her if she had any idea where else Charley could be, and she was drinking and she simply slammed the door on him. He'd stopped by dad's the next day, he looked worse than the last, and the two went out to dinner.

"How do you like college?" Dad said.

"Its fine." Frankie said.

"What are your plans for next year?" Dad said.

"Uhh.." Frankie said.

"If you want, you can come live with me. I know it's some ways away but I got space."

"I'll think about it… how's your life?"

"Bad." Dad said, "That's about it."

"Okay…" Frankie said.

"Okay." Dad said. "Do you drink?"

"No." Frankie said.

"Good, keep it that way." Dad said.

"I will." Frankie said.

Silence.

That evening, the two sat in dad's apartment. Dad was on his second drink of the night, Frankie was debating leaving. The TV was on and some talk show was on.

"It's a treat to have you both here at the same time after--" The interviewer said.

"And so, that's why you should never get engaged to your best friend." Dad said.

"Noted." Frankie said, standing up, "I gotta get back-"

Suddenly a recognizable voice came out of the TV. Charley.

"Well, you know, as a writer, writing is my life."

Frankie looked right at it. True enough. Charley Kringas, pale and shaky but smiling gently, sat next to Gussie Carnegie, who was sitting tall and confident.

The interviewer smiled, "So, it's a collaboration. But will you give us any more details?"

Gussie spoke, "No. Its a deep secret."

"its a deeply… emotional… piece." Charley said.

"We don't get along, but what we both love is art." Gussie said. "So we can get along solely on that alone."

"If I've learned anything from working in the theatre, it's that you can win as many awards as you want, you can work with someone who you love, but it doesn't matter as long as you're writing. You just gotta do it, regardless of what you're writing it for, who you're writing it for, or why you're writing it. You just write and you write and you write."

"Wise words-- Mr. Kringas and Ms. Carnegie will be debuting their new play by March 82', and they will also be right back as Tonight's Musical guest, performing pieces from their respective works--"

Dad, with full force, chucked his glass at the television.

"That son of a bitch!" He yelled, then put his hands in his head, "I thought he'd be back. I thought he'd think about it and come to the conclusion that WE need to be WE!"

Frankie bit his lip and looked away, crossing his arms.

Dad went silent and Frankie left.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uh oh spaghetti o


	5. Maybe you Should Leave

The year was 1958:

Having to elbow the door hard to close it, Frank entered into the tiny apartment. He took his coat off and held it close to his chest and tossed his keys into the bowl and closed his eyes, leaning against the wall.

Charley, who'd just this morning had been going on and on about how much he hated people, sat on the sofa with Mary. The two were smoking.

"Evening, Frank." Mary said.

"Frank-" Charley said.

"Why can't you smoke that shit at Mary's?" Frank said.

"Well, I was just about to offer to roll you one." Charley said, "but if you want me to leave…"

"No." Frank said.

"We were gonna see how many Charley could take before he dies of smoke inhalation."

"Awful." Frank said, sitting down and snatching Charley's out of his hand, taking a toke and handing it back.

"Well we're not anymore." Charley said, "I have to go out tonight."

"With my roommate." Mary laughed, "It was hard to convince him."

"Frank, give me an excuse not to go." Charley said.

"She's been all about how excited she is to be bringing you out!" Mary said.

"Don't get her down." Frank said.

"It's- it's not that. I'm just not interested at all." Charley said.

"You don't have to be interested in her." Mary said, "She's bringing you out to HER friends. They're all weirdos like you."

"Bleh." Charley said, tilting his head back.

"if anything, you'll be on so much garbage you won't even care." Mary said.

"Oh no." Frank said.

"She comes home on something new every other day." Mary said. "Weird radicals and lefties."

"Oh... when you pitch it like that.' Charley laughed.

"Don't you have work tommorow?" Frank said, winking at him.

"Don't wink!" Mary said, cackling.

"If he wants to wink, let him wink." Charley said, "He's right."

Mary nudged Frank, "The other day, I met him down there and his pupils were the size of my hand."

Charley laughed.

"God, Charley you're gonna get fired again." Frank said.

"They'd rather I'm high than fighting with customers." Charley said.

"Sometimes, I think I'm the only one here with an ounce of responsibility in me." Frank said, shaking his head.

"Why would I want to be responsible?" Mary said.

"I could be." Charley said, "I choose not to."

"I think you're just crazy." Frank said.

Charley put an arm around him and pulled him close. Mary did the same.

The year was 1971:

Frank played a measure. It wasn't his best work. It wasn't his worst work. It barely felt like his work in general. Charley looked up from his typewriter and sighed.

"What?" Frank said, "Is it bad?"

"Its not different from what you showed me last month." Charley said.

"I brought it up a key." Frank said.

"It's just sweet sorrow all over again." Charley said.

"Sweet Sorrow is good."

"Sweet Sorrow is safe." Charley said, " I don't this to be safe. "

"The book isn't safe." Frank said, "And it's really good too."

"Frank, I get that, I know this play is wonderful. I am capable of that much confidence. But if the play is radical and new and experimental, why can't the music be the same?"

"I…haven't had time, Charley." Frank said, "And if I have to change everything, it won't ever be done."

"I've been telling you that you need to change it since the first piece!" Charley said. "And you keep going on with it!"

"Because it's GOOD! Its good, and I like it!" Frank said, "I'm not changing it for you."

"You're not changing it in general!" Charley said, "This is the third time we've done this song and its sounds identical."

"I'm- well, you do the same thing!" Frank said, "First draft of the book and this sixth draft of the book, identical! Great job doing a complete rewrite!"

"Oh!" Charley said, "Show me three examples!" He stomped out of the room and returned with the two scripts, "come on. Show me."

Frank went silent.

"Yeah, bullshit." Charley said.

"I didn't read them both in their entirely." Frank mumbled. "But I flipped through and they were real alike."

Charley let out a laugh and sat down, head in hands.

"Of course." Charley said, "Of course!"

"Its 400 pages long, Charley." Frank said, "Excuse me for not having the time to read every draft you send me."

"Its your typical 3 act!" Charley said.

"It shouldn't be this long." Frank said, "There's got to be 2 hours of filler!"

"How would you know that if you haven't read it!"

"I can presume!" Frank said. "You get overeager."

"Frank, if you're not interested in working with me anymore, just tell me." Charley said.

"Oh, Charley, don't be ridiculous." Frank said.

"you're not reading my scripts, you're not putting any effort into these songs, you're critizing a script you haven't read." Charley said, "You're down here only once a month."

"I've got other work, Charley, I've got gussie."

"Gussie.. Gussie, of course." Charley said, "She doesn't like you being out with friends, she inserts herself in situations she shouldn't be in, she's never there for you when you DO need her... Gee, who does that remind us of?" Charley looked up and glared at him.

"I know who it reminds me of." Frank said, "Evelyn."

"Excuse me?" Charley said.

"You heard me." Frank said.

"You're in so much denial that you're going after me." Charley laughed, running a hand through his hair.

Frank rolled his eyes, "I know exactly how you feel about it."

"You need to look at yourself." Charley said, "You need to get rid of her."

"No." Frank said. "You critize her for trying to pull me away from you and then you're-"

"She's married." Charley said, "To someone you consider a friend-- and, and even if he's not the best-- listen, Frank, you know what I'm saying."

"I don't think I do."

"You've fallen in love with her, Frank. And I don't think that's a good idea." Charley said.

"Why?" Frank said. "Why does it matter to you that I love her! Why does it matter to you!"

"Because I care about you, Frank, and I know how you get!" Charley said. "And I know she's not good for you and I know that it's just sex for you because there's no way you could ever fall in love with someone who's so awful!"

"She's not awful!" Frank said, standing up, "What are you? Jealous?!"

Charley began to laugh again, holding his head in his hands. Frank sat back down, crossing his arms.

Those two events were bright in Charley's mind. Whenever he tried to Sleep, in whatever he tried to write, every waking moment, all defined both those events looping in his mind. He'd gotten a stitches taken out. Pain was extreme. He'd written half the first act. He was going Texas soon. Everything was spinning at all times. Gussie had said something to him the other day, told him off about something he'd written. He couldn't recall what. His brain was fried.   
That was okay.  
He was good.   
_This is Gussie's power. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> eeeyyy I'm back


	6. Beth

Charley couldn't recall the flight down. He couldn't recall getting to this door, or how he figured out where this house was. Like most things as of lately, it just happened.

He straightened his posture and rung the doorbell. He adjusted his eyes, focusing on the ground. A while later, the door opened and a large man stood, a child hiding behind his leg.

"I'm Charles Kringas," Charley said, "I'm looking for Elizabeth."

The man cleared his throat, looked at him and went to pull the door close. Then, Charley heard the sound of heels approaching from inside the house and Beth pushed next to the large man.

"Sweetie, go with Ricky to the backyard." Beth said.

The man turned, took the child and left the doorway. Beth stepped forward, mostly the door behind her.

"Charley..." Beth said.

"Beth." Charley said.

"Well, I'm-- I was gonna just tell 'im to throw you out of her and demand you never come back but…" Beth cleared her throat, "Why don't you come in?"

The two sat in her living room. Overly nice. Overly bright. No plants. Lace and wood. A big window facing out to a big backyard. She'd given Charley a glass of water. It had happened again, they'd been talking and he couldn't recall how it started. He'd given her what he'd written so far. She was flipping through it, face twisted into a look.

"Well this..." Beth said, "Well..."

"Well?" Charley said.

"This is about… Mr. Shepard isn't it, Charley?" Beth said.

Charley nodded.

"What do you want from me?" Beth said, "Seriously, we're NOT friends. We're not partners. Why me?"

"Because you have an untold story." Charley said.

"Does it need to be told?" Beth said.

"Yes." Charley said.

"Why?" Beth said, "Why now?"

"Why not now?"

She closed the script and placed it next to her.

"Are you sick?" She asked, "Is this one final.. last... Piece. Or something like that."

"I'm not sick." Charley said.

"But if it's not that, what is it?"

"Catharsis."

She stood up and went to the window, placing her hand on it.

"Frankie and I went on a college tour last year, up to New York. I saw one of your plays. I shouldn't have, but.. it was weird. Frankie's up there now, in school. Columbia-- didn't you drop out of Columbia? Hah. At least it's not julliard."

"Frank's up in new york." Charley said.

"Really?" Beth said.

"Him and Gussie are divorced and he's up in new york. I was living with him last month."

"Aren't you married?"

"Not for a year." Charley said.

"I'm sorry." Beth said, "Thought you didn't like divorce?"

"I don't." Charley said, "I wouldn't- I wouldn't- I forgot what I was going to say."

"Its not good to see you, Charley, it's not good to be reminded."

"I'm not what's reminding you." Charley said, "Not just me."

She sighed, pacing the room and then stopping.

"I'm a lot happier now. You won't believe it, of course, but I saw a psychiatrist and I'm a lot less intense now."

Charley nodded.

"I journaled about how he was to me, extensively, Over our relationship. I'm going to grab you that journal, then you're going to leave and you're never going to contact me or my family ever again."

"Of course."

She left the room and returned with a thick, leather bound journal, handed it to him and left.

It happened again. He sat in the hotel room, the room spinning. Gussie entered in, carrying a small tray. She sat down across from him, placing it on a table and snatched a book, the directory, off the counter. She began to crush something. Cruncch. Crunch. And after a short period she stopped, poured what was now certainly pill powder into a glass of water, stood up, and handed the glass to him.

"What's this?"

"Charley, don't act like you don't know. Even I know your history."

Charley drank it down. There wasn't any point in fighting.

"Good. Now write as much as you can till we have to leave tommorow."

"Of course." Charley said.

It only made him feel worse.

\--

Frankie had been stopping by his father's once a week for a while now. Every time he came it was seemingly worse. He'd stopped cleaning. He'd stopped bathing, he'd not gone to get food in a while so he was living off cans of the most awful looking foods, he didn't go out, he drank just a little bit too much. He'd leave the door unlocked and Frankie would come in and he'd usually be on the couch half-asleep or drunk and he'd look ay him.

"No one likes me, Frankie." He'd mumble.

And Frankie would say, "I like you."

And Dad would either start an argument or go silent. Frankie didn't know which was better.

Today, Frankie expected the same, but when he entered in, Dad was leaving. He was dressed up, shaven, hair pulled back and up into a hat, smiling.

"Hi, kiddo." Dad said.

"Where are you going?"

"Out." Dad said. "I'd invite you with me, but it's a private affair."

"you're dressed up real nice." Frankie said.

"Thank you- it's my best suit. Shocked I still fit in it after all the weight I've gained!" Dad laughed, "Well, since you came all the way down here. Walk with me down the stairs, kiddo."

"Alright." Frankie said.

Frankie moved out of the way to let him past. As the two walked down the hall, the elevator doors opened and put stepped a familiar face. He'd seen this guy, early fifties, sorta-charley-looking. He'd been sent to see him. Frank froze in his track ajd the man came up to him.

"You do not, ever, call my family again." He said, "If you have unfinished business, you finish it with him. You don't scare this shit out of the family."

"What?" Dad said, "Did you get in trouble for not doing the one thing you were supposed to do?"

"He's not a child, Frank, I can only do so much."

"You knew he wasn't well and yet you let him do whatever it was-"

"Because I thought I could trust you, Frank, I like you! The rest of our brothers sure don't, but I think that in the end you do care about him and you do understand just how low he's gotten. I think you are capable of being a good person-- honestly, I thought you WERE a good person! I thought you'd been misinterpreted and that You were just flawed and in need of a hand! But this is too much, this is just cruel- I had it handled. I know he's in LA. I know he's probably on drugs. I know that once I can, I'm going down there to drag him back here."

"are you trying to blame this on me?"

"Not Charley. But I am blaming you for calling my goddamn parents and telling them their son is possibly dead! My father has heart issues, my mother is about as loopy as Charley. We have bene trying, for years, to keep them out of the way when it comes to Charley's problems. You can't-" he stopped and shook his head, "I thought you would've grown past your youth, become a better man."

That set Dad off and he swung at the guy. The guy swung back and within minutes the two were fighting. Frankie stood to the side, frozen for a half second.

"Wait!! Wait, stop!" Frankie said, "Please!"

The two continued fighting. The guy had him pinned under his foot. Dad shoved him off, and sat up.

The guy shook his head, "Leave us alone. All of us. Don't contact me, or Lorry or Mars or my parents, or Charley. Leave us alone." He turned and left.

Dad stood up, straightened his coat, and turned back down the hall, back into the apartment. Frankie followed. Dad was still enraged, he crossed to the window, and began to tear the plant to shred. Piece by piece, leaf by leaf, all over the floor, then he kicked it over. Dirt everywhere.

"I'm going to LA." Dad said, "I have to now."

"Dad, you outta not let yourself get so worked up!"

Dad turned to him and slapped him hard. Frankie stumbled back.

"You need to get your nose out of places that it shouldn't be." Dad said. "You are nothing. You are not part of this situation at all."

"dad I'm-"

"Leave." Dad said, "Now!"

Frankie nodded, blinking back tears, and rushed out of the apartment as quick as he could go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Kringas family thinks so highly of Charley. Frank is a great father.


	7. Petty

"Its good. I think."

"Its... Really good.."

"I told you it was going to be good. He's the best playwright alive."

"so you have co-writer credit, Gussie?"

"No, no, I was involved in writing, but it'll look better if it's just him."

"Are you sure?"

"I'm not a writer, Bob."

"Well, alright. We love it."

"I'm willing to produce it on my own dime, you as director."

"Do you two want to sit in for casting?"

"No. Not him either."

"I don't know how we'll do this so quickly, Gus."

"You know I can pay whatever you want. We are important."

"Mildly unethical, but I see your point. This is really good. You said you've done some closed door readings with friends?"

"A few."

"Get me their numbers, Gus."

"I will."

"So, it's good to be in company with you, Mr. Kringas."  
("_If it isn't Charles Kringas!_")

Charley didn't respond.

"He's a writer, if you get what I mean. Very extreme, very focused on his work."  
("_He's.. a playwright. Very.. well, he's a character. My best friend in the world nonetheless_.")

"Ah, my favorite. I always heard he was a little crazy. The best ones are."

"That's for sure."

"I don't impede on his way of working."

"Well, I can tell that. This is wonderful."

"Heart wrenching, isn't it?"

"Oh, it's beyond heart wrenching. Charley, if I may get through to you, I want to know who the main woman in this is. I get who's who. I can tell Margret is Gus here, Bud is Mr. Shepard, but this woman-- is it supposed to be his first wife? I thought she was the one in the second act-- Nancy-Ann?"

"No." Charley said.

Gussie laughed, "she's a combination of many a person."

"No." Charley said.

"Who is she?"

"Its me." Charley said.

The man went quiet, tilting his head.

"Crazy, I told you."  
("_Excuse him, Gussie, he's a little loopy_.")

The man laughed. Charley wanted to smash his head into the table. He did not. The man rose, nodding at Gussie.

"Call me tonight, Gus."

"I will."

He left and Gussie sat back.

"Keep your mouth shut, Mr. Kringas."  
("_I'm begging you to be quiet, Charley_.")

"I packed my things up." Charley said.

"Whenever you talk, you mess it up."  
("_Charley, I wish you wouldn't talk Sometimes. Don't get me wrong, you're real smart, but these parties aren't about that_.")

"I'm leaving tonight."

"This show is going to shake LA."  
("_This show is going to shake Broadway_!")

"I've already got a ticket back to New York."

"You need to be quiet."  
("_don't ruin this for us_!")

"Mind riding down there with me? I'm so dizzy."

"I'm done with your little words. You're going to ruin this for us. So just shut up."  
("_Just smile and let it be, zone it out. Don't let it upset you. Musical Husbands is going to just be Husbands if you can't play this game, pal_.")

"I'm leaving."

She stopped, "Are you going to die on the way? That tone."

"Would it matter to you if I did?"

She sat back, biting her lip, "No."

Charley nodded.

"The end of our partnership."

"Just as it started."

"As expected."

"Contact me through my agent, if need be."

"I won't be."

Charley nodded. He went to his little side-apartment, grabbed his bag and the cane he'd gotten from the doctor, pulled his hair back, and went back out. Gussie stood by her car, beckoning him over.

"Don't take a cab." She said. "this is the last favor I'll give you. LAX?"

Charley nodded.

They did not speak on the way there till Charley was about to get out vehicle. She grabbed and pulled him close.

"This play never happened. After it's produced, after run has finished, it is over. We have never worked together and we never will work together."

"Of course... " Charley said.

"And nothing I did happened. You did not write this play, I did not produce it. None of this happened."

"Of course."

"Good boy."

_New York. Why did you come back? Geniunely. What reason? Where is there to go? Nowhere. Nowhere. There never was anymore. You've written more in 22 years than most write in 60 years. You have succeeded. You have failed. You're divorced. Your kids don't like you. Your family is endlessly disappointed. You are disappointed in yourself. Two finished musicals, one forever unfinished, hundreds of plays, and one that does not exist. You've made a name for yourself. And there is really no place to go. Death would be a waste of time. Carefree. That's a word. Its a good word. Carefree usually means relaxed unworried. Split it into two care free. I don't care. You do not care where you are going, or why, or what. You just are. Go whatever way your gut tells you two. If he kills you, so be it. If you're loved and celebrated, so be it. You are not alive. You are not dead. You are you. Doesn't matter what you are. You are._

He still had a key. He stood by the door, leaning up against the wall, breathing in and out and in and out. Steady. Steady. He opened the door and stepped in. It was dark. Maybe it was late. Maybe it was early. Charley didn't know. He'd gotten rid of his watch. He flicked a light on. The plants were not well. One was destroyed, dirt and leaves thrown everywhere. He rolled his sleeves up, shut the door behind him, and walked to the closet. He got the broom. He cleaned the leaves and the dirt up, putting them in the garbage can. He did his best to water everything else. He picked up trash and opened the curtains. He cleaned the dishes. He went to his room and put on comfortable clothing, then he went back to the sofa, fixed his eyes on the door, and sat down, arms folded, legs crossed.

Charley could recall back when they were young vividly. He hadn't written about their youth in the play, to keep the cast small.   
Charley'd always been a fan of small spaces. They were comfortable. They were safe. Charley'd also been of a Frank. He was comfortable. He was safe. that space had always been Charley's alone, that closet. His earliest memories, 5 or maybe 6, were fighting with his brothers, when they wanted to grab something out of the shared closet, and hissing at them like a cat when they opened the door.   
At age 14, he'd let Frank in there with him by Frank's request. It was a tight fit, they were curled up to eachother. Upset for different reasons. They were nervous and sensitive. That had continued it seemed.  
It was funny how dramatic youth was. It was funny how dramatic young adulthood was. It was funny how dramatic adulthood was. And middle age. Everything was dramatic.

_Fitting that you wrote a play about it, Charley. Drama._

He didn't want to be asleep when Frank got back. He wasn't tired. He wasn't anything. He just sat and stared at the door.

He wasn't sure what the plan was when Frank got back. To go with it. Let whatever happens happen. _No. No, don't do that. Defend yourself. Nothing you did can be defended but don't let him step all over you. Be care free._

He was so tired. He was generally uncomfortable, achey, dizzy. He was starving. He wasn't going to eat. He was so tried.  
He must've fallen asleep. No, he did fall asleep. He knew he was dreaming as he dreamed. He laid on a sofa in a dark room and the walls were creating light and the floors were made out light and the ceiling was made out of light but it was still so dark. A man sat across from him. A psychiatrist. He must've been a psychiatrist. And Charley was talking but he couldn't hear what he was saying. The psychiatrist spoke but he couldn't hear what he was saying. The light got brighter and the room became light and he couldn't see and he couldn't hear, he could hear light, and then he woke up. He sat up, adjusted himself, went back to staring at the door.

Some time later, the door was unlocked, and then it opened.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This will end great


	8. Nothing new.

"please, Dad, think it through!" Frankie said as the two got into the apartment.

"I thought it through!" Dad said, locking the door behind them.

Frankie wanted to cry. He flipped around and took a step into the living room then stopped. For a moment he thought he'd gone crazy. Uncle Charley sat on the sofa, thin, pale, eyes wide, he wasn't smiling, but he wasn't frowning. Frankie stepped back, freezing.

"Dad--" frankie said.

"what's-" Dad turned around. He stopped and stepped back, into the door. He reached over and grabbed Frankie.

"Are you-"

"I am." Frankie said.

Charley sorta smiled, then rose up. He lifted his arms, opening them up. His eyes got all bright and he grinned.

"Hi, Frank."

Dad's face drained of all color, then he turned as if he was going to leave. He stopped. He turned back around and began at him, then stopped again, mid step. He looked at Frankie, eyes wide. He looked back at Charley. He swallowed hard. He took another step toward Charley. It wasn't aggressive anymore but Charley still stepped back, eyes fixed on his arms. Dad stepped back too, then sighed and lifted a hand to shake. Charley took the offer. They shook hands. Dad grabbed him with the other hand and brought him into a hug, which Charley returned.

"Where the hell have you been, man?! I was worried!" Dad laughed. "Got in a fight over you, with your brother! God, man, where did you go this time?"

"I was- let go of me-" Charley said.

"I mean, for real! What a crazy weekend our last one was together! Mary won't talk to me, buddy! She won't!" Dad let go of him and grabbed his shoulders, shaking him a bit, "You owe me two months of half-rent, you know?"

"I'll write you a check." Charley said.

"Oh, Frankie, come over here- Frankie's been around a lot!"

Frankie nodded and waved.

"Hi, Frankie." Charley said.

"God, you look awful, Charley." Dad said, "Frankie, doesn't he look awful?!"

"I.. don't know." Frankie said.

"I hit him the other day, real pissed off." Dad said.

"You did what-"

"It was nothing!" Frankie said, "I forgive him!"

"God, Charley, Charley." Dad said, "Charley, Charley, Charley." He let go of him and Charley sat back down.

Frankie stepped over and sat across from him, looking up at Dad who was still standing.

"I was so worried." Dad said, "Charley-pal, Charley-boy, Chorles, Char, Chip, Chaz... Where'd you go?"

"Out west. I was writing a play."

"A play, well, geez. I thought you stopped writing. Gave your typewriter to Frankie here-"

"I still have it, nice and safe, if you want it back."

Charley looked at him and nodded then back up to Frank, adjusting his glasses, "The play is about you, Franklin."

"Is it getting produced?"

"I think so."

"Where?"

"Somewhere in LA. Its very critical of you. You are not named. Nothing to ruin you, but many harsh words. I'm not going to apologize for it."

"If it's in LA, I'll never have to see it, I don't care. Frankie, do you need money for a cab? To get back? I'll get you money for a-"

"He's going to kill me." Charley laughed, "Have a goodnight Frankie, send the police here if you can't reach me in a month."

Frankie rose, "I'll be alright. Have a good night you two."

Frankie turned and left. He held a hand over his mouth and bit at his fingers. It wasn't normal. Dad wasn't normal. Charley wasn't normal. Nothing was normal.

\---

Frank took a seat across from him, sitting back and tapping his foot. He needed a haircut, he needed to shave, his hair hadn't been dyed in a long while.

"Are you back?" He said.

"Unless you want me gone, sure." Charley said, "I don't have any reason to leave. I don't have any reason to stay either, but leaving requires more effort. Might as well stay."

Frank sighed, "God, you're crazy. You know that? Fucking insane! You're just awful Charley, crazy and awful! I sound so cruel but I'm right! I'm really right! I can't stand you! "

"I'll leave then."

"No!" Frank said, "You're gonna stay and we're gonna tough this out because I don't have MARY anymore because of you or Gussie and I'd rather you and I kill eachother than I kill Frankie! You're staying!"

"Completely fair."

"You sound like you don't care."

"I don't care. You want me to prove to you that I love you and that I'm over all the shit we've been through? I won't. You want to me say I'm sorry for what I've caused? I won't do that either. I'm just going on a day at a time. No past, no future."

Frank swallowed hard, "Fine."

"So, you and-- Danny, I presume fought?" Charley said.

Frank nodded, "I called your parents. Said you'd rushed off to LA."

The concept of Care Free was getting to be very painful. That was something he did care about. That was something that was very low. But he had to stick to his guns.

"Danny is protective." Charley said, "I betrayed him, and my shrinks, and the rest of my family. Sad. I'm not supposed to go on planes, alone at least, I'm not supposed to disappear for months at a time. You want to know where I was during Passover? I was at Beth's. I was at Beth's, then with Gussie. Sure my kids are loving that. Daddy's disappeared again."

"We're both awful fathers."

"Isn't this just lovely?"

"I don't think I even like you anymore."

"Reciprocal."

Frank stood up and offered him a hand.

"Help me cook dinner."

"I will."

The two sat in the kitchen. Neither spoke. Dinner, just some frozen meals, was cooking. Charley was sitting on the counter. Frank was leaning against the wall.

"Are you seeing a psychiatrist?" Charley said.

"I'll start seeing him again soon, since you're back." Frank said, "Are you going to see yours?"

"Eventually." Charley said, "It's gonna be a fun appointment, that or I'll get the 'your lack of interest in growth means I do not think I am a good fit as your psychiatrist' speech."

"They can do that?"

"When you're me, yeah."

Frank looked away, "I'm good at therapy."

"Uh-huh." Charley said, "Would you grab me an aspirin?"

Frank reached up on top of the fridge and tossed it at Charley, "Why do we keep it there?"

"Force of habit." Charley said, popping the bottle and taking a pill out. "kids."

"Ah." Frank said.

Charley leaned over, cupping his hand, turned the sink on, taking the pill then downing it with the water out of his hand. He turned the sink off and sat back up.

"I would've grabbed you a cup." Frank said.

"I didn't need a cup." Charley said.

"Use a cup, next time."

"Why?"

"Because I think you should use a cup."

Charley rolled his eyes, popping the lid back on the bottle and placing it next to him. A wave of dizziness washed over him and leaned back on his arm.

"Why do you look so awful?" Frank said.

"I was with Gussie while I was writing this play." Charley said.

"And?"

"She was giving me something. Something to keep me working. I'm probably going through something like withdrawal."

Frank rolled his eyes, "I doubt she'd do that."

"Maybe you're right." Charley said, "I don't really know. Its over all anyway, what does it matter?"

Frank sighed, "You and I are being really mean to eachother."

"That's true." Charley said.

"Are you going to stop?" Frank said.

"I don't know."

"Neither do I." Charley said.

The timer dinged and Charley hopped off the counter, wincing at the pain. He grabbed the glove, Frank opened the oven, Charley took the tray out.

The two sat in the dining room eating. Across from eachother, silent.

"You've lost weight." Frank said.

"Pretty sure I was on stimulants." Charley said. "you've gained weight."

"I haven't had purpose to go out." Frank said.

"That's fair." Charley said. "I've felt that before."

"Will you sleep next to me tonight?" Frank said. "I haven't had anyone close since you left."

Charley nodded, "Why not."

And that night, they laid curled up in Frank's bed. Charley had his arms around him and Frank was half asleep. And for the first time ever, Charley felt nothing. He no longer felt angry at him, or sad at his life, or bitter, or unwell, he just felt nothing. Once Frank fell asleep, he pulled away and went to the living room, to the window, to his destroyed plant, he stood next to her for a while. He ran his hands along the few living waxy leaves, then looked back out the window. He limped to the coat rack and took his coat, and put on his shoes and went out to the balcony, leaning over the railing. It was May and it was hot and muggy and gross. And it wasn't LA. And there was no family to call. And there was no friends to argue with. And Charley loved heights. They also made him so introspective. Balconies. Bridges. The roof.  
The last line of his play was:  
"Growth doesn't just happen instantly. Like climbing a tree, or the slippery steps up a lighthouse, you will stumble and slow down and might even fall, but eventually you'll get high up enough. You'll see everything, and you'll see more, and you'll start climbing again. You'll just keep growing and growing if you don't stop. You shouldn't ever stop."  
He had to keep growing.

Frank's hand touched his shoulder and Charley turned to look at him. He stepped next to him and leaned over the railing too.

"I used to think that I could only ever feel two ways about you, Frank." Charley said, "Because that's how it was since the day I met you. I could either hate you, cry or scream or both because of you, or I could be in love with you. Which I was, I was so in love with you. I was an awful husband because I was in love with you. I was an awful friend and father and so one because I was in love with you. It was immature, it was ridiculous. We were all adults! Yet you never told me off, always danced around it, kept the possibility open, pulling me into kisses, grabbing my waist, the little notes, the compliments, and you liked the game and I liked the game. I could've easily just straightened myself out, divorced and apologized to Evelyn as early as I could, and look for someone else. I never made the concious choice to get over you. I never looked at myself in the mirror and said: 'its over, get over it'. Childish? Definitely. But now I've had my catharsis, I've cleared myself of the rage. You'd think that I would just be in love with you, but I think the anger and the love were linked together. And the angers gone and I no longer love you. I'll stay, I've got nothing else, as I said, and I'll probably end up curling up to you every night, and I'll probably write another Musical with you, and we'll have our great big reconnection, and we'll have our therapists, and we'll be you and I, and it'll either go on forever or we'll have one last falling out. I don't know. I think it's still our time. You and me, we're still us."

"I don't know what you're talking about." Frank said.

"I know." Charley said, "I didn't expect you to."

Frank nodded, "What do we do?"

"Let's finish Take A Left." Charley said, "Nothing new. Something old."

"Nothing new, something old." Frank said.


	9. Done.

"This play is visceral. Its too visceral in fact. Kringas is known for his willingness to explore emotions, but this play takes it a step further. Every scene is like seeing your childhood friend trapped in a abusive relationship and being unable to pull them out of it. The characters are cruel to one another and each is stripped down to their core, all deeply flawed and honestly awful people. I'm unsure if any of these character deserve what they get. I'm not sure who the victim is supposed to be."

"While I can't say that you shouldn't see it, I'm not going to ever come close to saying you should see it."

"It's very clear who the characters in this play are representative of. The legal team of this publication won't let me give names, but you can probably guess who the antagonist is supposed to be, based the playwright, Charles Kringas', and the producer, Gussie Carnegie's, rather public falling outs with the man we can't name over the past 8 years. Its deeply uncomfortable, nearly traumatic, to sit through."

"While we try to connect the play to the right audience, this play isn't fit for anyone. Its sickeningly raw and uncomfortable, jarring. Its like watching your parents fight when one has a knife in their hand. You're constantly on edge, but not in a good way. You're drenched in sweat and nauseated by the end of the first act."

"Right off the tail of what I'll continue to call one of the best plays of the 20th century, Kringas writes one of the worst things I've ever seen in my 45 years of work. I decline to even call it a play, I don't think we should raise it to that, this is simply something. There is no way to describe it other than sickening. This play quite literally made me throw up during intermission and if not for my obligation, I would've left. I don't know why anyone would write this or produce it or direct it. If this play were a horror, it would still be way too excessive."

"This play feels like the rambling journal of a paitent in a mental hospital, as vivid and disturbing as one too."

"Is the old adage of writers being crazy true? Kringas has been a critical darling for almost 20 years, but his luck seems to have stopped and his sanity seems to have fallen to the wayside. This play is not worth your money nor your attention. We're lucky that this play opened in LA instead of New York, because if it was exposed to any more people there would be a major uptick in suicidality. This play is like seeing a dead body, and that body might just be Charles Kringas' career. I wouldn't wish a viewing of this play on a war criminal."

"The directing and acting of this production is superb, but you won't notice it as you will be too disturbed by the dialogue and story."

"This play might be tolerable if you are on many many mind altering substances and have no connection to reality, which is the state I presume Charles Kringas was in as he wrote it. I don't mean to get extreme. An open letter to you, Mr. Kringas: in what world would this be okay to write? Is this a cry for help or are you just a sick and disturbed person?"

"Kringas went from a fantastic hit to the worst piece of theatre produced in the past 60 years."

"Charles Kringas has never been scared to take things far in his works. His places are very political and emotionally driven, but up until now he's been able to sit on the fence seperating the intense from the disturbed. He seems to have fallen into the latter with this play. I might just be sending him my psychiatrist's bill for the next few years."

"IS CHARLES KRINGAS' CRITICALLY DESPISED NEW PLAY ABOUT HIS RELATIONSHIP WITH FILM PRODUCER AND COMPOSER FRANKLIN SHEPARD?"

"Kringas has never been my favorite writer, but one cannot deny that he knows how to affect the audience. He brought it a step too far this time and I cannot recommend this play."

"I'm quite puzzled by this play. It doesn't follow logic, it's just a set of emotional triggers in seemingly no particular order. They should have trained psychotherapists standing outside to aid the audience after the show ends."

"I quite like this play, but in the same way someone may enjoy the comfort and familiarity of an awful partner. Its very Kringas, and I don't know if that's a good thing."

"This play feels like going into anaphylactic shock. I think I'd rather go into anaphylactic shock then ever see it again, for that matter. I'm nervous for the mental health of anyone involved and anyone who has seen it."

"I feel deeply for the shrinks of the people involved in this play. I hope they're getting paid well. Money seems to be the only reason this piece was produced. What a shame."

"I had the pleasure of meeting Charles Kringas many years ago. He was kindhearted and shy, quietly helping me up when I fell at a party. His now ex wife standing nearby. Eventually, we got to talking he was more than willing to be the bold voice you see in his plays. Another thing I learned when meeting him all those years ago, is that he is a severe and very obvious manic depressive, as one can presume for many writers. I think THAT voice is shown in this play and its not a good thing. Hopefully he can pull himself out of the hole that this piece has dug him into."

"I'm sickened by this play, like most seem to be. Very unfortunate."

"full disclosure, I've known Charley Kringas since my freshman year of college and I've never reviewed any of his plays for that exact reason. I don't usually review anything off Broadway, but I had to for this. You'll notice that this is not my normal review, this is an editorial. This play has been berated in reviews and I think they're fair to do so. I think it's very fair to pull apart something so cruel and uncaring, so blunt and unkind. But at the same time, I think understanding and care must be applied to this piece. I think it's something desperate and emotionally raw in response to the complete lack of emotional rawness in today's culture. I think we could all be a little bit better off if we stepped forward and let out emotions come out when this play prompts for them. Maybe being open isn't a bad thing. Maybe being open is a good thing. Maybe we have to look at our lives and relationships with a critical eye as this play does to it's protagonist and not be scared of what we find. Maybe it's time that we dig deep into everything that has made us us and has made everyone around us them. Maybe Charley is onto something. Or maybe he's not and this is just a ploy to shock and disturb the audience. Or perhaps I'm just defending an old friend out of loyalty or love, I don't know."

Charley folded the reviews up and put them into the folder. Frank sat near by, playing the piano. A headache had developed behind Charley's eyes and the music wasn't helping. But Charley wasn't on thick enough ice to ask him to stop, so he just closed his eyes and laid back.

"Frank, I need to borrow some money." He said after a while, "I'll pay you back in time."

Frank stopped playing, "Why?"

"I need to get Mary into a good rehab. One of the ones your rich buddies get into in LA." Charley said.

Frank began playing again, "Do you think 25,000 will do?"

"Hopefully." Charley said.

"Alright."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Life is about taking out loans you will not be able to pay back after destroying your career.


End file.
